


Blood will have blood.

by lifechiaroscuro



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4280499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifechiaroscuro/pseuds/lifechiaroscuro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood.”</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve wishes he would stay. He wishes Steve would go, from a half-remembered feeling that the man should not see what he is doing; a feeling that grows stronger as his mind does. Setting fires to compounds full of people; carving places from prisoners. But Steve follows, and sees it, and sometimes sets fires of his own. Neither man gets his wish for a long, long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood will have blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm alive! Just a oneshot, for now - I'm doing CampNaNo again this month - but in August I'll post a lot, I promise.
> 
> Credit goes to tigriswolf for this fic. The first paragraph of this fic was originally written for this prompt that she gave on (the livejournal community) Bite Sized Bits of Fic:  
> ‘Avengers movieverse, ex-Winter Soldier, “It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood.” (Macbeth).’

Steve wishes he would stay. He wishes Steve would go, from a half-remembered feeling that the man should not see what he is doing; a feeling that grows stronger as his mind does. Setting fires to compounds full of people; carving places from prisoners. But Steve follows, and sees it, and sometimes sets fires of his own. Neither man gets his wish for a long, long time.

He remembers one of the places that Steve and his friend had set on fire. It had been in a hilly, secluded part of Quebec, west of Lac Kelly. He had watched for a while from the edge of Gatineau Park before disappearing into the woods. It was the biggest, brightest blaze he has seen so far; beautiful, if not for all the bodies that could have been burning inside. He wonders just how many had died. And how. 

Is it progress that he recognizes that as morbid?

\-------------------------

_Catch me if you can._

After a while it becomes almost a game, one that pauses so information can be gained and people can be killed. A deadly game, but not one in which he and Steve hurt each other - Physically, anyway.

He probably would have in the beginning - hurt him - maybe even fatally. But Steve never got even nearly close enough.

But soon the possibility is gone, and he finds himself leaving clues when it seems like they’re losing him. He knows he shouldn’t, that it means Steve will keep seeing the atrocities he’s committing, but he can’t stop himself. He realizes later that he’d needed to know Steve was nearby.

Because James supposes Steve is hurting him, in a way. His face, his words, his actions, his very manner brings things back. First feelings, then knowledge, then memories.

_I’m not supposed to hurt him. I’m supposed to… protect him?  
(Why?)_

A flash of him - or the person he used to be - and a smaller Steve as children, sitting on a curb. Just laughing. 

_Because I really cared about him.  
(Do I care about him?)_

And one thing that is strangely precious to him, in it’s own way: 

A flash of a girl in a blue dress. His sister.  
_I had a sister?_

_(I think I loved her.)  
(Is that love?)_

And all of that? It hurts.

\-------------------------

They find him, or maybe he just gives up on hiding. And it’s a good thing he did, because his metal arm is trapped and he’s been shot. The next will probably be fatal. But then he hears a gun fired from a different place, and the woman cries out in pain.

Steve comes into view. “Bucky. You’ve been shot.” He lowers his gun, but James notices that he hasn’t put the safety on. 

He grimaces. It's a through-and-through; he’ll be fine.

Steve helps him free his arm and offers to stitch him up. He pauses, but agrees, because it would be hard to stitch his own back. He knows Steve won’t hurt him, and won’t let his friend - Sam Wilson, he learns - hurt him either. He talks as little as possible and leaves right after it’s finished. 

Steve doesn’t ask him to stay.

\-------------------------

The world is burning, James is coming to realize. 

His life is made of fire. He carves a trail of destruction through the Americas and Europe, razing Hydra’s facilities to the ground, taking out every person of importance that he can. The flare of his mind as his identity, his memories return. Whether they bring pain or a strange sort of happiness, each of them consumes him when they first appear. 

The pull between him and Steve, a flame that he’s starting to realize was once a blaze. 

It confuses James, how the two of them had once been so close.

But it’s not just him, it’s everyone else. From what he can tell, a lot about Hydra is out in the open. Governments have seen that they’d had agents in their midst. The public has discovered how much Hydra had influenced their past and present, and how the organization would have changed their future. The world is in chaos, flames fraying its edges. The structure is cracking from the heat, just a little bit.

And Steve. 

Steve has an inner flame, a passion, dedication. But James knows that his fire is hurting Steve. The state that he’s in, the fact that he never stays. But he can’t, Steve must know that. 

_I can’t.  
… Can I?_

\-------------------------

One of the times he and Steve meet, there’s a red-haired woman with him and Sam. 

She stands very still when she sees him. 

He stands still too, and studies her.

A lock of red hair. 

A flash of him fighting a shorter woman. 

Pushing a woman against a wall without the intent to harm.

“Yasha,” she greets. Then something flickers across her face. As if she’s changed her mind, she corrects herself. “James.” 

Suddenly, he knows her name. 

“Natalia.” 

They stare at each other for a moment longer. 

Natalia breaks his gaze, and Steve asks, “What was that?”

“A memory,” James hears her say as he leaves. “Just a memory.”

\-------------------------

Later, when he’s alone, he remembers more.

Kisses: hard, then soft.

_“They’ll wipe you.”  
“I don’t care.” _

_“James… I think I love you.”_

_ Natalia. _

_Natalia._

_I think I loved her then too._

\-------------------------

They start to fight together, and not just when one of them is about to die. James speaks to them, too. But despite Steve’s pleas, he never stays. Because he can’t, then because he shouldn’t; so he doesn’t. 

Soon Steve’s throwing out quips during fights and James is often responding. He moves seamlessly with Steve just like he remembers doing previously in alleyways, on battlefields, in just about every walk of life. Memories are returning.

Then there’s the first time this century Steve takes a bullet for him - literally. The brunette had fought hard to protect him and take out the rest of the enemy. The protective instincts have grown strong again, and it guides both the combat and the aftermath. 

“Fucking hell, Steve.” 

He helps the other man up. “You idiot. Why did you fucking _do_ that?” He knows the answer, but it seems to be ingrained. 

“I couldn’t let it hit you,” Steve says, then winces as Bucky’s fingers move around the wound, “It would have gone into your back, maybe even your heart. 

Bucky has never quite understood why Steve does things like this for him. His confusion has now increased exponentially. “Yes, well now it’s stuck in your shoulder.”

It’s not bleeding much, but the bullet is stopping it up. They need to get it out quickly. The longer they wait, the more painful it will be.

He carefully pushes Steve down into a sitting position, kneeling with him. Sam soon approaches. “What’s going - shit.” 

“Do you have a car nearby?” 

Sam watches Steve, concerned. “Yes.” 

Bucky pulls Steve up, then puts his arm around the other man’s waist. Steve’s goes around his shoulders. “I don’t need this.” Steve protests. 

“Well if you don’t, you will.” Bucky looks at Sam. “Let’s go.” 

Sam has been staring at them strangely, but he seems to snap out of it at the words. “Okay.” 

“I’m sorry I doubted you.” Sam says over his shoulder once they’ve started to walk.

"It's fine." Steve replies. "I know it was hard to believe."

\-------------------------

He takes off both Steve’s gear and his own, and uses some water and more gauze to clean off their faces as well as he can. When they arrive at the hotel, Steve leaves the car with a blanket wrapped around him, one hand pressing the gauze into his shoulder while the other holds the cover closed.

Once they’re in the hotel room, Bucky looks to Sam for guidance.

“Honestly, man,” Sam tells him, “you’d probably do better than me. I’m sure you’ve dug a few out before.”

Bucky grimaces. “I have.” 

“There’s a bigger med kit in the car.” Sam tells him. “Hold on, I’ll get it.” 

Steve takes off the gauze. There’s a large patch of blood on it, but it’s not soaked through. 

He looks at the wound again. “We’re going to have to cut you out of your shirt, hope you have more.” He draws a knife, and begins to do so. Steve blinks at him, startled. A faint smirk appears on Bucky’s face. “Hope you have some tees, too. No need to draw more attention than possible.” 

Steve gives a surprised but fond smile. “Jerk.” 

“Punk.” The reply is instinctive, and he sits back heavily. A great number of memories have appeared. 

“Bucky?” Steve tentatively reaches out to him. 

“Wow.” Bucky kneels up and goes back to pulling off Steve’s shirt. “We were really something, weren’t we?” 

Steve’s smile is sad this time. “Yeah. We really were.” 

He stays for lunch.

\-------------------------

Next time he sees Natalia, the result is slightly different. She stands still once again, her gun by her side without the safety on. Bucky, however, moves towards her. He isn’t very near when he stops, but he’s far closer than he was last time. 

“Hello, James.” She greets. 

“Natalia.” He returns, then pauses. “I tried to kill you.” 

“Twice. And it’s Natasha.” 

He shakes his head. 

“You don’t remember Odessa,” she says, but in her eyes there seems to be an inkling of something else.

“I do. And if I’d wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.” 

Her eyes widen slightly. “Oh.” 

“And I remember more than that.” Bucky hesitates, and twists his lips. “Я ... я думаю что я чувствовал то же самое, раньше.”

The shock is clear this time, and she watches him a moment longer before she disappears. 

Steve speaks carefully. “You knew her - before, didn’t you?”

Bucky stares at the doorway. “In every sense of the word.”

_This woman brings ghosts with her._

“But that’s all it is now,” he tells Steve, remembering what Natalia - Natasha - had said before, “Memories.”

_“I love you.”  
“I love you.”_

\-------------------------

Bucky has stayed after battles to speak with the other two, even eaten with them a couple of times. He’s gotten to know Wilson a bit, become more comfortable around Steve. But it seems like it’s injuries that really bring them together.

It’s an injury that leads to him staying the night for the first time.

It’s a long, jagged gash on his arm that does it. He doesn’t feel much pain when he gets it, and he doesn’t really notice it until after the battle, but when he does… 

“It hurts like hell,” Bucky tells Steve. “But it’ll heal well, you know it will.” 

Steve is still worried. “So I guess that’s confirmation that you’ve got some version of the serum.” 

“I guess.” Bucky pulls off his upper layer and sucks in a breath as it drags over his wound. 

Sam looks at it. “I’ve seen his healing rate. That’s bleeding a lot, you should still get stitched up.”

Bucky frowns, knowing what they’ll say. “Fine. I’ll let you do it.”

Steve relaxes slightly.

\-------------------------

Steve drives, and Sam hands him a towel that appears from a duffel bag at his feet.

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Did you two steal a dozen from the hotels, or something?”

“...Seven.” Steve admits. 

Sam helps Bucky press the towel over the wound. “How many tops to this thing do you have?” 

Bucky’s lips quirk up and he shrugs. “I’ve been raiding Hydra’s bases.”

“So.” Sam says as Steve stitches him up, “I hear you and Steve had a heart-to-heart last time this happened.” 

“It wasn’t a heart-to-heart,” Steve tells Sam, in a manner that makes Bucky suspect that he’s said it before, “it was all of eleven words long.” 

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “I’d forgotten your near-perfect memory.”

Steve’s lips thin. “Yeah, it’s been helpful.”

“Just sayin’, I can disappear if you want to have some sort of meaningful conversation.” Sam says. “In fact, I am going to leave right now and clean up the car.” 

“So, you want to have a “meaningful conversation?” Bucky asks, then changes his tone a bit. “Actually, I wanted to ask you - did we do this a lot, before?”

“You mean patching each other up after fights or having meaningful conversations?” Steve snips the thread and ties it off.

“Having meaningful conversations while patching each other up.” 

Steve frowns and glances up at him. “Yeah, I guess we did. Near-death experiences sometimes to lead to things like that.”

_This is hard on him. I probably shouldn’t but…_

Bucky’s voice is hesitant. “What did we talk about?” 

Steve’s fingers stop briefly. “Us,” He tells Bucky unsteadily as he tapes the bandage on. “We talked about us. You meant a lot to me.” He sighs. “Mean a lot to me.” 

“I remember some.” Bucky says as the blond finishes up and stands. “You meant a lot to me too.” 

Steve wavers. “And now?” 

Bucky looks down. 

_I can’t answer that._

Steve pauses, then walks over to the other bed and sits, arms on his legs and head lowered.

Bucky has no idea how it happens, but when Sam comes back, the other man convinces him to stay the night.

\-------------------------

Bucky sits bolt upright, breaths harsh. He fights through the confusion, but someone moves nearby and the reaction is ingrained. There’s a gun out from under his pillow in an instant, safety off, pointed at the person. 

"Не шевелись."

The man freezes. “What?” 

_… I’m speaking Russian._

“Oh. Don’t move. Right.”

_… Shit, I’m pointing a gun at Steve._

“I’m sorry, Steve. Боже мой, I’m sorry." He puts on the safety and drops the gun on the bed as Steve turns on the light.

Sam’s waking up. “‘S okay. Steve did it to me a couple of times,” he tells Bucky drowsily.

“He _what_?” Bucky asks incredulously, then turns to Steve. “Wait, you know Russian?” 

“I did.” Steve admits. “Though it was a knife, not a gun.” 

“What about that time in Greenwich?” 

“This trip doesn’t count.” 

“And that one in Kiev?”

Steve sighs. “Also on this trip.” 

Sam turns to Bucky. “By the way, is that a Beretta 93R?”

“Yes. Why?” Bucky blinks at them, surprised. “And this is a really odd way to distract me.” 

“They’re really rare among the civilian population.” Sam shrugs. “And anything goes, if it gets a person out of their head.”

“... Okay.” He turns to Steve. “And the Russian?” 

“I picked a bit up from Natasha.” Steve gives a small smile. “The phrases used in combat situations were the first I learned, of course.” 

_“Teach me how to go unseen.”_  
“Beautiful Natalia. I wish you’d never have to.”  
“I’ll kill them faster that way.”  
“Then I’ll show you.” 

Bucky’s reply comes out heavier than it should have. “Sounds like her.”

He doesn’t say goodbye this time, for fear that he wouldn’t be able to leave.

\-------------------------

He sees them more and more, both on the battlefield and off. They’re getting closer, circling each other in smaller and smaller orbits. 

It’s really only a matter of time. 

As usual, what finally brings it to a close is something traumatic. Except it’s traumatic to an extent that none of them could have imagined. 

They’re at a Hydra base near Moscow when Bucky stumbles onto a cell. A cell, and another room; one with a chair. 

The compound is suddenly much more than a mere Hydra base.

_I was kept here. For a long time. I was kept here._

_I was kept here._

_In that cell. In that chair._

_That chair._

_-And the electricity, and the pain, and the bright lights-_

Something moves behind him, and he snaps around, gun raised, but this man doesn’t register as a threat, and somehow the gun ends up in its holster.

_-and forgetting who I am-_

“Bucky?” 

Bucky drops to his knees, unseeing. 

_-and the bright lights, and the dark, and the cold, and the cold -_

Steve moves towards him and kneels, carefully telegraphing his movements. He tentatively places his hands on the sides of Bucky’s arms.

_-I can’t breathe-_  
-Stop-  
-I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe-  
-Stop-  
-It’s cold-  
-I can’t-  
-Stop, stop, stop.-  
-It’s so cold.-  
-Ican’tbreathe- 

“Bucky.” He barely registers the words. “Bucky. Hey. Deep breaths, right?”

_-I can’t breathe, I can’t-_

“In and out. In and out. In… and out.” 

_-I can’t breathe-_

“Match my breathing.” Steve’s voice is soft, careful. 

_-I can’t-_

Steve's taking loud, slow breaths, and Bucky finds his own slowing in an effort to meet Steve’s. 

_I…_

Bucky’s vision is clearing, and he realizes where he is, what’s happening. 

“Steve.” He pauses, then tips his head forward onto Steve’s shoulder.

They get about five seconds like that before it all goes to hell.

\-------------------------

They’d been checking the base when Bucky’s breakdown had happened, and it seems like several Hydra agents were hiding out in the places they hadn’t searched.

_-Not the Winter Soldier-_

He doesn’t know how it happens, maybe Steve is distracted by what has just occurred, but one of the men gets behind him, and Bucky can’t stop it. Steve moves before the Hydra agent can actually stab him, but he leaves a long, deep slice across the blond’s back. 

Steve yells, and he still manages to elbow the guy in the face - there’s a satisfying crack, probably the man's cheekbone - but then he falls heavily to his knees. 

_-Not him, not him-_

His last couple of takedowns are anything but clean, and the man who’d tried to stab Steve is shot in the head as Bucky walks by, 

_-Not him, not the Asset, not him-_

Steve is bleeding on the floor, and he snaps out of it in record time. 

“Bucky…” Steve groans. 

_-Not him, not the Winter Soldier, not… Okay._

The brunette looks at the wound and swears. “Alright, we’re getting you outta here, but you won’t be walking. What’s the best way?” 

“I can -”

“Save it for the walk to the hotel room.” 

Bucky knows it’s bad when Steve gives in. “Bridal style. The cut’s low on my back, so won’t touch it, and the position will jar me the least.” 

Bucky picks Steve up, and Steve gasps as it pulls at the wound. “Must be bad, if you’re not complaining about carrying me around like a girl.”

“Can it, Rogers. Now tell me how it feels.” Bucky walks out of the room and down a hallway, viscerally aware of his surroundings. 

“Fucking hurts.” Steve’s words are slightly unfocused. 

“No shit.” 

_Fuck, he’s bleeding a lot._

Bucky picks up his pace. “I need details, Steve. Rate your pain, at least.” 

“Um…” Steve groans. “Six out of ten?” 

“Liar.” 

Steve takes a deep breath. “It’s… dulled now. It’s spreading across my back.” 

“Not a jagged wound, then. Okay. That’s good.”

\-------------------------

The ride to the hotel is horrible. 

“Okay, I’m gonna do this now, and hope it doesn’t make you bleed much more.”

“What?” is Sam’s reaction. 

“Why now?” Steve groans. 

Bucky’s voice is grim. “Because if you get loud, I’d rather it happens while we’re still in a reasonably secluded place.” 

“Oh hell.” Steve seems to have suspicions of what he’s about to do, and relaxes his muscles as much as he can.

Bucky swipes a towel across the wound, pressing in. Steve groans loudly when he does it the first time, then yells when he does it a second. He nearly screams when the brunette does it a third time. 

“What are you _doing_?!” Sam yells. 

The other man lets out a string of Russian curses. “That muscle has been cut deeply. Steve’s not moving for at least a day once we get him back to the hotel, because neither of us can stitch that up.”

Bucky presses the towel over the wound. Steve groans again, nearly incoherent. “Drive faster!” he demands.

\-------------------------

If the ride to the hotel is horrible, what happens at the hotel room is just as bad, maybe worse.

Steve stumbles into the room, and they lay him out on the bed with a couple of towels underneath him. Steve muffles curses and groans with a pillow. They have to stop almost immediately to switch who’s stitching so Steve doesn’t break Sam’s hand. 

“Jesus Christ, Rogers.” He says as Steve grips his metal hand. “I can’t feel pain in this arm, but that is a hell of a lot of pressure.”

Shortly after, the pressure slackens, and Bucky panics. “Steve. Steve. Come on. Wake up.” 

He slaps Steve’s face lightly, and it’s a big mistake. Steve wakes up, but he also lashes out, and Bucky has to hold him down to keep him from hurting himself. “Steve. Steve, you’re alright. It’s me. It’s Bucky. You’re safe.”

Steve stops struggling. “Buck?” he groans. 

Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand. “I’m here. I’m here, and you’re gonna to be okay.” 

_He_ will _be okay._

Steve keeps watching him, and Bucky’s has to put his right hand over his mouth to quiet the noises, but he puts his left on Steve’s neck, and the blond holds onto his wrist. 

Once Steve is stitched up and bandaged, Bucky takes his hand off of Steve’s mouth and lays his head down to the edge of the mattress. “Oh God.” 

There’s a pause, then Steve squeezes his wrist. “Thank you.” 

He doesn’t have anything to say to that except, “I’m staying.” 

“The night?” 

“No. I’m staying with you.”

Steve smiles.


End file.
